I've Stripped it Down to Us
by I Was NotA Robot
Summary: She likes to ignore whatever strange feelings she has around Chase because frankly, they're unwelcome. She was doing a good job of it too, until the world was on the verge of ending. In a flash, she's gone, and sometimes Chase wonders if she was ever there at all. In which bones are broken, cherry pie is made and eaten, and people become things they weren't before. Brase.
1. Prelude to a Flashpoint

**SUMMARY: She likes to ignore whatever strange feelings she has around Chase because frankly, they're unwelcome. She was doing a good job of it too, until the world was on the verge of ending. In a flash, she's gone, and sometimes Chase wonders if she was ever there at all. In which bones are broken, cherry pie is made and eaten, and people become things they weren't before.**

 **A version of this is also on Wattpad, please check it out. It's under the username like_a_lonely_house.**

 **Based on the idea that Bree's power improve to the extent that she can vibrate through walls and light stuff on fire and all that jazz. Not unlike the Flash himself – although with great power comes a whole lot of consequences you may not expect, including a strange new fascination with your brother you don't understand.**

* * *

 _Tell me your secrets_  
 _And ask me your questions_  
 _Oh, let's go back to the start_

 _Running in circles_  
 _Coming up tails_  
 _Heads on a science apart_

 _..._

 _Oh, take me back to the start._

 _..._

 _- The Scientist, Coldplay_

* * *

She thinks it has something to do with puberty. Middle school was full of self-imposed awkwardness and unwanted pimples. High school consisted of bloodied tampons hidden under wastebasket liners before her brothers could find them and magazine subscriptions that Mr. Davenport would've never approved of. Those shaky years that stuck with her wherever she went or whatever she did are in the past – like they should be. Maybe she didn't realize it, but those years had done her well.

Now she's on the verge of graduation, with dreams of blue caps and graduation gowns dancing on the edge of every school day. She'd like to think that she's _changed._ She has, actually. Her hair brushes her shoulders, and her body is muscular and slim. She's grown several inches in height, and can handle weapons and foreign languages nearly half as well as Chase. Juggling the life of a high-schooler and a teenage superhero becomes a bit easier and less hectic (or maybe the line between them blurs over time. She doesn't mind).

After years of the terrible gangly limbs and red skin and teenage awkwardness, she blossoms and truly _evolves._ It's welcome and all, of course. But she didn't expect this.

Bree is the fastest human on earth. Now she is even faster.

As her brothers grew older, their abilities grew stronger as well. The brawn can now crush fighter jets with his pinky, and the brain has extended his forte into telepathy. He's a master of martial arts and a wielder of force fields. Her brothers are powerful. But this – is something entirely different.

The first sign is when she falls through a wall without a sound.

* * *

Playing tag in the Davenport terrain is never a good idea, seeing as even the simplest games tend to end in disaster, what with Adam usually breaking half the island in frustration when he plays hide and seek and Chase hacking security cameras to cheat. And tag? That was Bree's specialty, and it always will be. But one Friday afternoon filled with rain and gray clouds that confined the residents of the island indoors, she gives it her all, racing down the narrow halls of the academy without a backwards glance at her pursuers. She's fairly sure she's doing quite well, because Chase and Adam could never keep up with her, but she's so busy laughing at the wind on her face that she doesn't see a final corner that is rapidly approaching her.

"Look out!" Chase called after her, panting and reaching out a hand.

"What?"

Bree only gets a split second of confusion before she swerves to the side, too quickly to keep control of her own body. Instead of skidding to a halt, she twists to the side and can do nothing but wait for the collision of her body with brick.

It never happens. Instead, her vision darkens and the strangest feeling numbs her limbs, her skin, and her very soul. She can feel every molecule of her body moving out of her reach, so quickly and violently that her skin feels hot and _burning_ and for a brief moment she feels as if she's on fire. She wants to scream, just open her mouth and holler as loudly as she can – but her voice catches in her throat, and then she's on the other side of the wall, gasping and trembling on the ground.

" _Bree!"_ Chase calls. He rounds the corner, turns again. She feels his movement in the side of her peripheral vision, and feels his hand on her shoulder.

"What was that?" she managed to choke out. "Was that another bionic?"

"I think you just vibrated. Through a wall." Chase swallowed, looking at her with a new light in his eyes – curiosity. "I mean, the principle is plausible – you moved so fast that your molecules lost their solid form and turned to energy, letting you phase through the wall and out the other side – it's incredible and – oh, your nose, it's -" he babbled, hands on her shoulders.

Bree brought a hand up to her face and pulled away. Blood, warm, red, and sticky, covered her fingers. Her nose was bleeding. Wonderful. She tried to say _I'm fine_ and wave Chase off, but she couldn't ignore how light her head was feeling and how dizzy she was and how her vision was tunneling…

The superheroine's eyes rolled up behind her eyelids, and she slumped unconscious in Chase's arms.

* * *

Chase's diagnosis seems to be holding water so far, especially under the scrutiny of an entire lab full of microscopes, syringes, and test tubes with samples of her blood. Chase and Davenport theorize that her cells have either mutated, or become a new thing altogether.

This new revelation is only the beginning of a million good things yet to come, she is sure of it. The following missions only strengthened this belief and her resolution. She can move without sound, and could outrun the speed of light on her good days. Coordination is a given, but unnecessary. Even those with the quickest of reflexes are in slow motion these days. This doesn't matter to Bree too much.

Life is good. Running is a miraculous sensation now. She can feel herself moving, really _moving._ Here the world around her is frozen solid, sluggish and choppy compared to the pulse that is always with her.

It is a marvelous feeling.

* * *

When the first real problem occurs, it is a sunny day.

Adam, Bree, and Leo are on a time limit, and there is no room for dillydallying today. The mission is going well - they've just uncovered evidence of hostages in Liberia, and she rushes off to tell Donald the news. Bree rushes out of the base, onto the bay, and across the water. She is a blur, and she is alive. She almost makes back to the academy (which is on the other side of the planet). Almost.

Within five miles of the island, her arms begins to unravel.

There is no blood, no tissue, and no white bone peeking out from slivered strips of shredded skin. Only blinding white light, and the feeling that her head is going to burst. Her focus is lost, and Bree begins to sink into the blue and green crest of waves. The water is past her waist, past her shoulders, approaching her chin -

She starts to scream.

* * *

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"The amount of energy you created was starting to affect the matter in your body. You were starting to erode at an alarming pace - even your endurance and stamina couldn't keep up with it. You're lucky Leo got to you when he did – if you'd still been moving, you would have disintegrated completely. You're overworking yourself to death, Bree. Literally. But it's more than that."

Donald leaned over the edge of his computer and looked her straight in the eyes. "You were running so fast that you disrupted the current dimension."

"Time, space, all wibbly wobbly stuff." she grinned, patting her bandaged arm. "The healing factor is kicking in, and all is well. It's all fine now." she assured him. Donald Davenport shook his head solemnly, a grave expression set on his face that Bree had never seen.

"This is serious, Bree. If something like this happens again, you could wink out of existence, maybe even cease to have ever existed. There's more than physical matter affected by universal flickers. There's time and memory – all sorts of tricky things. Everything around you would be affected - if an object or a person was exposed to the energy you were producing, it could disappear entirely. This is dangerous stuff we're dealing with. This is what happens when bionics mutate out of control – they become extremely unstable and dangerous, Bree. We have to do something about this -"

"I can handle it." she snapped suddenly, defensive, before recoiling at the look on his face. She backtracked and held up her hands. "I mean, its fine. It won't happen again." She loves Mr. D like a father, arrogant and eccentric as he is, but there are some matters that she knows he can't resist pressing. Contrary to popular belief (mostly his), he doesn't know everything. She stood up to leave. Davenport started after her, stricken.

"Wait -" the door slammed shut.

Bree sighed and started down the hallway. A hand suddenly shot out and gripped her elbow, yanking her backwards. She looked up, startled to find her face inches away from someone familiar.

"Chase?" she asked. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was creased in a straight line that spoke volumes. "What's wrong?" she asked cautiously, slowly shaking her arm out of his grip.

"Nothing. Everything all right?" he asked, deceivingly casual. She nodded, not taking her eyes off of his face. "Alright, good."

With that he left, in the opposite direction. Bree was too tired to question him, so she went on her way and thought no more of it.

* * *

A week has passed, and the days have rolled past too slowly and dryly for Bree to enjoy any of it. When she is digging into a box of Chinese takeout one Saturday, Chase plops down on the couch next to her and sighs. There is no television on, and his usual book is absent, and Bree waits for him to speak.

He does.

"I read the file. Davenport recorded data on your current state, and I think that it would be best if you…stayed behind for a while." He fidgeted nervously. Bree squinted, disbelieving.

"What?"

"This could be serious. That was a close call, in Liberia. I don't want you to be hurt – I talked to Douglas, and I recommended that you temporarily be taken off of the -"

Her fierce glare is enough to shut him up, but he doesn't need to finish the sentence. Naturally, she is furious. She wants to smack him in the face, see him flinch when her hand collides. "How dare you!" she seethed. "I can take care of MYSELF, thank you very much, and I don't need anyone else trying to mess up my career!"

She knew she hurt his feelings, but she was too angry to care. He doesn't try to point that that this isn't a _career,_ it's a _lifestyle._ She has already stormed out with a murderous expression on her face, and he knows that he shouldn't push it. Pushing things can be dangerous, especially when they concern Bree. He's noticed that his sister has become prone to volatile mood swings as of the last few days. He couldn't chalk it up to PMS or even Bree just being moody, but perhaps this was just a side to his sister he wasn't used to seeing. Anyway, girls in general (no matter how pretty they may be) could be more trouble than their worth.

When Adam walks into the otherwise abandoned living room to find Chase with a box of rice and noodles crushed on his head, and soy sauce dripping down his face, he doesn't ask.

* * *

The following month whirls through in a flurry of papers and last-minute cramming for exams. It is to the relief of all residents of the Davenport household that Adam has managed to just barely scrape through the curriculum, Leo has made it through, and to the surprise of no one that Chase has graced the records with straight A+'s and 200% scrawled over at least five papers in red ink. Bree makes it out with A's and B's and a good list of recommendations, so she is satisfied.

 _(None of them wonder if college is really an option among superhero training and whatnot)._

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" _I'm sorry."_

" _I forgive you, you know."_

" _Yeah."_

"… _stupid."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

When the four Davenports make their way through the crowd to an awaiting Tasha and a smiling father, all seems right in the world. The sun is shining, and casts a long shadow through the trees that stretch along the border of the school. Chase catches Bree's eye, and she smiles at him.

He walks away with his heart feeling weightless in his chest.

* * *

The end of school gives them freedom. Summer gives them all bug bites, tanned skin, and sweltering heat. Thank god the island has a pool. Bree spends her afternoons tanning out in the sun, occasionally dragging a grumbling Chase out with her. She sneaks glances at him from under fluttering lids, and can't help but grin to herself at the sight of him in a floppy hat and towel, huddled under an umbrella and a large book.

"What? I burn really easily!" he protested. She laughs at him anyway. He's ridiculous. And maybe a little handsome - but there's no way she'd ever tell him that. Not if her life depended on it.

* * *

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There is no time for picnics like the Fourth of July.

"I made it."

The slice of pie looked normal – normal enough, anyway. But Chase couldn't help but feel suspicious. The innocent piece of pie looked _entirely_ innocent, especially with the whipped cream dolloped on top, but something told him to hesitate.

This was an offensive message, and Bree wasted no time in grabbing a utensil and stabbing the desert with relish. "Taste." she ordered him, hands on her hips. She slid the fork into his mouth and he gladly took the offer. The tangy taste of cherries greeted his tongue, and he grinned.

"It's good!"

"No need to sound surprised." Bree huffed, crossing her arms.

"Well, I was expecting it to be poisoned or something." he teased. She tossed a napkin at his face and tossed her head back to laugh.

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If fireworks were a reasonable excuse to slide his arm over her shoulder, then so be it.

[ _after all, it was a very brotherly thing to do]_

And if the dark hid her expression when she set her head on his shoulder, then, well, convenience always was a lucky thing.

* * *

She's never really understood how (or why) various girls have shown at all an interest in Chase Davenport. As of lately, at least three somewhat attractive female supervillains they've faced have paused to comment on his 'sculpted cheekbones' or managed a flirtatious wink in his direction before Bree punches them in the face. It is a puzzling mystery that she just can't wrap her head around. After all, he is the smaller, scrawnier boy of the family, at least last time she checked. As it turns out, she hasn't checked in a while.

In the summer heat, training is nearly unbearable unless several layers of clothing have been removed and hastily thrown aside. For a moment, Bree hesitated to toss off her shirt and parade around in nothing but a sports bra for the entire academy to see (until the prospect of a laughing sun and burning sweat her fumbling with her clothes in no time), but Adam and Chase have no such qualms.

The courtyard outside is hardly a yard – more like acre upon acre of land that rolled a pattern of cement and green grass for miles before it reached the edge of the water around the island. This vast space is mostly vacant, except for the spare training dummy or rubber tire. Today, the three have brought an assortment of bo staffs, escrima sticks, and knuckle rings out into the hot sun. Of course, a large crowd of female students clustered around them to watch. Exactly what the crowd is holding its breath for, Bree isn't sure – not until Adam and Chase strip off their shirts, and she nearly face palms.

Adam is thick as a tree trunk and tall as one, too, with massive arms leading up to even larger shoulders. Bree isn't surprised - after all, he's supposed to be the strongest teenager on earth. He was designed to crush, punch, and stomp, and in order to do that, muscles, abs and gleaming quads were required. Bree is used to seeing her boys in such a state of undress. But this doesn't stop her eyebrows jumping to her forehead when Chase pulls the constricting fabric of his uniform over his head and casts it aside.

Chase isn't exactly ripped, no. And he isn't handsome in a traditional way, with a strong, square jawline and pseudo-masculine features. But he has grown lean and fit, as years of training are bound to allow. Sometimes Bree finds herself flustered around him and his long legs and arms. His face is narrow and clever, like a fox, with dark eyes and high cheekbones. He no longer plasters his hair down with that ridiculous gel of his, which is good, and the fact that his eighteenth year has been kind to him is evident. She is most definitely _not_ blushing when he bends down to pick up a fallen escrima stick and gives her (and the ground of female recruits behind her) a lovely view of his backside. She heard a low, appreciative whistle come from behind her, and she whipped around to glare at the offender.

She didn't find her, and she found herself turn back reluctantly, and move into a fighting stance.

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This was a three-way battle, just the way the three bionics liked it. While Adam was purely offensive, smashing the ground and anything that got in his way, Chase rushed to defense, swinging a staff in the air to counter each one of Bree's hits. Her boys seemed to have simultaneously agreed to gang up on her. Let the fun commence.

Bree tried not to use her super-speed too much. when she sparred. She's been told before that it's cheating, and unfair to all opposing parties involved. She didn't see it as unfair, as Chase was using his force fields, and Adam had his strength with him wherever they went, but she tried to make do with what she had, which was a bo staff - Chase's weapon of choice. How he handled it with such precision she didn't know, as she had barely mastered the basics of the traditional fighting style. She ended up using it like a blunt sword with no handle - she got in a few good swipes and landed one or two whacks with no little satisfaction. It wasn't enough, not with Chase summoning his own weapon and correctly using a staff as it was made to be used, and not with Adam's strength acting as an unofficial trump card that she cannot keep up with. They've got her backed into a corner now (Chase happens to be that corner, with Adam approaching rapidly with a cracked escrima stick in hand). Bree moved backward and whipped her head back, hoping to catch Chase in the face, but he dodges just in time, grabbing her shoulders and using her own momentum to wrench her to the ground. She fell hard, and with a muffled grunt.

" _Yield!"_

She doesn't understand why girls (blonde, curvy girls like the one student in the front, in particular) would ever spare a second glance for Chase Davenport, or how they could get lost in his eyes or the crease of his smile, or spend hours observing the sheen of sweat coating his - no, no she doesn't understand, not at all. It's ridiculous, really, and she should let it go –

Then their eyes met, and all of a sudden, she completely understood. Her brother is _hot._ Plain and simple. Not sweaty-like-a-pig hot, but aesthetically-pleasing-in-a-way-that's-weird sort of hot. Weird because he's her brother, that is, and weird because he always will be her brother.

* * *

The bionic siblings know that this isn't playtime anymore – when the world arms itself with guns and tanks and nuclear bombs, they arm themselves with the privilege of power and pattern. They do so by becoming brutal in sparring matches – they aim to win, and by doing so they learn. So when blood is drawn, it is hastily wiped away. When bruises form or the occasional finger breaks, the training doesn't stop. After all, they'll heal within moments and pausing in the middle of a real fight wouldn't do them any good at all.

In sparring matches, Adam can't keep up with Bree, because speed and unlimited energy clashing with power and strength offers no real contest. Of course, if Adam manages to catch her in a headlock or grab her by the leg, she's embedded in the floor before she can blink, but usually she's winning more and more frequently, and less and less narrowly. The faster she kicks, the more force she unleashes. The more force she unleashes, that farther back Adam reels back under every punch and every kick.

Chase can match her combat moves with multiple forms of martial arts, his staff, and the occasional use of telepathy (which she argues is unfair, but he insists her complaints are invalid). Bree doesn't hold back, and neither does he.

Now he uses this knowledge viciously, and when they're just fighting, no powers involved, she can tell that he is her match. When it comes to sparring, that is – because he is in no way someone to ogle at or gush over. He's her _brother. Jesus._

Brother or not, she's met her match, and she knows it when he somehow maneuvers his body to curve around hers in an infuriatingly intimate way and his elbow makes contact with her chin. When she reels back and cries out, hands meet her waist and slam her to the ground with enough impact to knock the wind out of her.

He pressed her against the mat, shoving her to the ground and straddling her hips. Her wrists were pinned above her head, and her breathing was shallow. She was faintly sure that she banged her head when she hit the ground, and she was just as certain that the blood rushing to her head had everything to do with the collision and nothing to do with than the fact that Chase was looming above her, relentless and pulsing in adrenaline, or that their bodies were flushed with heat and in close quarters.

"Yield?" he asked through slanted breaths in a voice that's entirely too low and hoarse for her taste. She can't speak now, so instead she swallows thickly and nods. That's enough, and he releases her wrists. Although he should've gotten off of her by now, he doesn't, and all of a sudden the room feels a lot smaller than it really was.

Neither one of them moves, nor can either one of them bring themselves to break eye contact.

* * *

 _Your eyes are brown. Just like mine. Because you are my brother. I love you. I love you because you are my brother._

It is mantras like this that become whispered reminders in her head whenever she can feel him watching her from behind a book.

 _My heart is beating because we're sparring. I am watching the trail of sweat trickle down your face because I know what it feels like to be tired. For no other reason._

She tries not to notice certain things about him. She tries so hard to turn a blind eye to a twitch of his lips, a flicker of his hand, or a movement of his brow.

 _I do not feel your hand at the small of my back. People are in danger; I have other things to worry about._

She does not remember every touch, every caress, and every unnecessary means of contact he bestows upon her. She doesn't need to get weak in the knees for a _boy_ , much less gangly, awkward _Chase_ (even if he's filled out and gotten taller and maybe a little irresistible).

 _Oh, brother dear, how dare you?_

* * *

"A bomb. In Central Park." Douglas's voice crackles through the earpiece. Adam is struggling a few meters away with a falling building. Leo is suited up and blasting bolts of light at the robots overturning cars and attacking civilian. Bree nods.

"Alright."

"I want you to speed Chase over there – he'll disarm it."

She knows Chase is going to complain about riding piggyback the whole way there, so she tunes him out as she skims over the top of the water, and mentally hums as they zigzag around buildings and speed toward the directed coordinates. With the wind, the sun, and the heat of the fires licking at the city to distract her, she doesn't feel Chase's breath on the back of her neck or the drumbeat of her own heart. Nope.

Their destination is in the middle of a mess of blackened trees, consisting of splintered wood and sooty ash with smoke curling into the air. It's a wreckage. She runs through it all, not pausing to wipe her face or cough in the condensed air. He unhooks his arms from her shoulders and unwraps his legs from her waist only when they catch sight of the bomb. It is a large hunk of metal, hardly bigger than a washing machine, with all sorts of dials and levers. Next to it, connected by a twisted plastic wire, is a crackling and buzzing laptop which Chase immediately attends to.

He scans the screen, and his fingers flit across the keyboard in a blur.

"How're you doing?" Bree calls from her position as a 'watch guard'. There isn't anything to really watch for, except for the possible stray cat stuck in a tree. Clock Man, or Pendulum, or whatever this supervillain calls himself, is long gone, vanishing among the sea of faces of past and future adversaries.

"Unless the power source miraculously disappears, then these bugs will be positioned all over the world."

* * *

The clock connected to the bomb laughs at them.

* * *

 _Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

 _._

 _._

 _._

"Chase, hurry!"

"I – I can't. The system is overriding everything!"

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 _Tick. Tick._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Boom._

* * *

"It's too late. The machine is impenetrable. Not even Adam could dent it. Nanobots have already been distributed in the air – there's no way to destroy them now. We can't even _see_ them. And there are billions – soon, they'll travel across countries, continents – the whole world." Chase griped. He punches the machine in frustration. "They'll grow and multiply, and they'll turn into -" _they'll turn into the kind of robots attacking the city._

She waits a few seconds more for Chase to reach a solution or some brilliant epiphany. Nothing. Bree thinks back a few minutes.

" _Unless the power source miraculously disappears."_ She has it.

"I can do it." she said excitedly.

"What?"

"I'll fix the problem, Chase. I can do it." Bree told him eagerly, glancing at him with a fond expression. "Tell Adam I'm sorry. And you'll forgive me, right?" she asked, not quite waiting for an answer. Whether he does or not can't matter anymore. She loves him with all her heart and a little more, but this is her job. This is her destiny. Chase's eyes widened in realization. The boy is clever.

She felt oddly calm now, in the face of her impending doom. Her brother began to shake his head frantically. "Mr. Davenport -"

"Screw him. We're heroes. It's up to us to save the world." she interrupted firmly. He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

"No, not like this." he begged. "Please. I won't let you." The two stared at each other in silence. Something in his eyes tells her that he is telling the truth – he would do anything in his power to keep her from letting go, from saving everyone. Bree knew that Chase would never back down – he has become too stubborn for that, and she loves him for it. But right now he is reminding her entirely too much of the moment in the training room, and this is so frustrating that she wants to scream.

This doesn't feel like an appropriate reaction, so instead she settles her hands on either side of his face, pulls him close, and kisses him. A moment of stillness passes, and she feels uncertain for a moment before he reciprocates and leans in for a better angle, hands settled on her hips like they were always meant to be there. The kiss is in no way quick or chaste. All at once it is hot and glorious and mournful, and Bree takes it slow, moving in ways that she never thought she'd move (at least not with him) and sighing in a tone that is entirely too breathless for her taste. The side of his nose rested against her cheek, and their chins are mashed together in a way that would've hardly looked romantic to any unwelcome spectator, but at the moment Bree is too wrapped up in the best damn kiss she's ever had. She pulled away for one second, just in time to catch the glassy look in his eyes and the content expression on his face. _I love you._

And then she punched him in the face.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

Had he been awake, he would've yelled at her and screamed at her, until his throat was hoarse and she couldn't bear to look at him. Chase is currently unconscious, and his eyes are closed. He won't see what happens next. It's for the better.

Bree turned away and started to run.

It might be her imagination, but she swears that she can feel her skin peeling away from her bones.

The heat, the _heat_ is unbearable, and something is rising up from her chest toward her head, threatening to erupt from her jaws. Her body is full of fire, burning, stinging, kicking and screaming at her insides. She knows she has to stop, otherwise she'll go down burning, but she _can't._

Because there is a world out there, a beautiful world full of things that are hideous and wonderful and everything in between, and now it's going to end but Bree can't let that happen. All she can do is keep running, running, running toward nothing.

It's all coming down to this final bound now, this single motion that must be fluid and a million times faster than lightening - a movement that will be invisible to the human eye. It all comes down to this. Blinding white light dances in her vision, and she manages a brief smile and wink in Chase's direction.

And then she is gone.

* * *

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Eventually, they found the man behind all of this, behind all of the clocks and deathtraps. Behind the demise of a sister. He was a self-proclaimed supervillain – in reality, he was simply a terrorist with a god-complex. He called himself the Time Taker. How fitting.

[" _She left."_

" _She underestimated her own power, and that was what destroyed her."_

" _No. Her mistake was leaving. Her mistake was leaving me alone WITH YOU!"_

" _CHASE, NO!"_

" _This isn't what she would've wanted, Chase. Put him down. Put him -"_

" _SHE'S GONE, AND SHE'S NEVER COMING BACK! I'LL KILL HIM, I'LL KILL HIM, I'LL -"]_

The Time Taker suddenly went limp, as if he was a marionette who'd just had his strings snapped. A thin trail of blood trickled from his ear, and Chase knew that from the silence of the room the Time Taker would never take again.

The man sits in an empty cell now, alone. He is still alive. His body is sustained through tubes and careful health procedures. He will not speak, he will not move, and his breathing is barely enough to get him through the cold nights. He will live. According to the doctors, he is braindead. Alive, but useless. He is properly disposed of, out of the way and out of sight, and Chase is satisfied.

* * *

Adam is training as hard as ever, throwing dummies around the room and deflecting lasers with his hands. His brother watched him with sullen eyes.

"There isn't even a body left to bury." Chase said under his breath. He looked up at Adam. "We didn't even have time to say goodbye. Bree's… _gone_."

"Who's Bree?" Adam asked.

" _This is serious, Bree. If something like this happens again, you could wink out of existence, maybe even cease to have ever existed. This is dangerous stuff we're dealing with."_

* * *

It goes on like this for weeks. Slowly, media references to Bree Davenport cease, and posters or pictures of her begin to fade away – replaced by something else. Chase is horrified that the world could forget the girl who fought for it – who died for it – so easily, and so completely. Unnaturally.

Something isn't right here.

There is no more mourning, no more banners, and no more tear-stained faces. Everything slowly shifts back to normal, and the world spins itself around, and around, and around. Perfectly in order - too perfectly.

"Douglas!" he called. The man turned around, keys in hand. "We're forgetting something."

Douglas Davenport scratched his head thoughtfully and frowned.

"I know. I thought I locked back door before we left, but now I'm not so sure…."

"No, Douglas. It has to do with the explosion in New York."

"Oh – I've been meaning to talk to you about that, but it slipped my mind. We picked up some video feed from nearby long-range security cameras installed close by. My sensors picked up some weird energy being emitted from around the machine – how did you say you destroyed it again? The energy was indescribably powerful, and when I identified it, I couldn't believe it. It could be dangerous." he disclosed, stepping into the car and shutting the door. Douglas glanced out of the window, a flicker of concern in his eyes. Chase shook his head.

"I'll – I'll explain later. But I want to know about that energy. The white light"

"That white light you saw? It's a crack, a crack in our dimension. The fourth dimension is space, and I could guess that there are tens of thousands of further dimensions that we can't even comprehend. Any object or particle of matter affected by this flicker would immediately be erased, from time and physical reality. We wouldn't be able to remember anything that slipped into the gap, simply because...it never existed in the first place.

"To be able to physically exist in them would defy all laws of science and physics – we could mess around with superposition, time travel, teleportation, and a million other things. But it's best that we keep things under lock and key. We wouldn't want any panic, now would we?" he grinned. The motor roared to life, and Chase watched as the car backed out of the driveway and down the road, headed for the landing strip.

* * *

Something inside him has switched back on, and he hurries back into Donald's office. Approaching the screen with keyboard in hand, he swallows back his doubts. He still remembers her just fine - every detail, every moment, and every laugh.

Why doesn't anybody else? That doesn't matter now, not when there are important things at stake.

out in his head, over and over, like a broken record. That is good, because the memory of a kiss can be just as powerful as the promise of one. Chase knows that he loves his sister to the ends of the earth and beyond

 _[Chase had always known that, deep down there is no one else and he knows it now. He knows it like he knows Newton's Third Law and Latin stems and scientific equations. He knows it deep as the drum in his heart. He knows he loves her, and he clings to this knowledge like it's the only thing keeping him alive. He loves Bree, has always loved Bree, and will do so until the day he takes his final breath]_

but until he finds her, he can't very well tell her, now can he?

Bree Davenport is not dead. Perhaps she is trapped in some strange world, pocket dimension, or another planet. Maybe she traveled back in time to the age of the dinosaurs – maybe she's started over, saving the world all over again. Maybe.

Chase hit _play_ on the video recorder, and white light exploded on the screen. He knew that wherever Bree was, whatever happened to her in that bright light that he never saw, she was out there, and it could take months, years, _lifetimes_ to find her (and even longer for her to find her way back).

But it's not like Chase to stop trying. After all, he's got all the time in the world.

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 **The next chapter will probably be up within a few weeks once I get around to it. I know, you were promised Brase, and that's what you got, in the form of a jumbled mess of words and plot. This is like a prologue, so things are just barely getting off of the ground.**

 **Please drop off a comment in the box below, feedback is always welcome.**


	2. The Control Tirade

**Warning for a bit of cussing, Bree being confused, and Marcus being a condescending jerk. What's new? So this is the new chapter. Yeah. Please comment. Feedback is appreciated.**

 **Summary:** **Bree is tired – tired of spinning, tired of screaming, and so fucking sick of tragedy. And then there's Marcus, who just makes this day worse. _This is just the beginning._**

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 _It's all coming down to this final bound now, this single motion that must be fluid and a million times faster than lightening - a movement that will be invisible to the human eye. It all comes down to this. Blinding white light dances in her vision, and she manages a brief smile and wink in Chase's direction._

 _And then she is gone._

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White hot fire licked at her bones, and before she knew it, she'd wrenched open her jaw with some invisible strength she didn't know she had and screamed her head off. She screamed and screamed, raw and terrible, like some sort of animal being skewered on a stick alive and dangled over a campfire. She can't run anymore – she feels frozen in this unbearable heat, and her brain is exploding, her heart is exploding, her soul is being stripped away – no, she cannot bear this. A hundred, then a thousand, then a million, then a billion, and then so many more prickles of cold sear through her body. Bree falls apart. She crumbles. She dies. She shivers. She doesn't get up for what feels like a long, long, time.

And then she is falling.

There is no up or down here. There is nothing to grab onto, no ceiling to watch grow smaller and smaller from above, and so far, there is no concrete floor to land on. She tried not to wince; once she hit, the ground would hurt like a bitch. There aren't even blurs of color rushing past her to indicate any sort of movement in place; there is only white, unmoving and blank. Bree can only feel wind from every direction, pressing and tugging at her body and yanking at her hair. The wind feels so intentional and forceful that for a full thirty seconds she believes that invisible hands are grabbing at her, fingers scraping across her bare stomach, her open chest, and her legs – tipping back her head and poking fingers down her throat.

This got rather uncomfortable, and she squirmed and writhed in midair, closing her eyes to block out the sensation of dizziness. She felt like throwing up – she wondered if bile that slid from her throat would be suspended in the air as well. Best not find out.

Who am I?

Bree. My name is Bree.

Right. That sounds right.

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What felt like hours passed. Eventually she gets bored of feeling wind rip through her body, and wondering if her flesh will rip to shreds. Bree is tired – tired of spinning, tired of screaming, and so fucking sick of tragedy. She doesn't know why. After all, she barely remembers her name, much less what may or may not have happened in her past that makes her so sad and empty now. She crinkled her forehead.

 _I was – I was – chasing something. Running away? No, that isn't right. I was chase – chase –_ Chase. _Not running. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, please,_ NO.

Dammit. Chase. Adam. Leo. Mr. Davenport. The bomb. The kiss. Chase.

Right.

Dammit.

She felt her acceleration speed up, and the dropping sensation in her stomach increased. She visualized herself hurtling to the ground, faster and faster and then –

When she opened her eyes again, she found a pair of brown irises staring down at her. The lashes framing these eyes were dark and full, and two dark eyebrows rested above them. A dark hairline. Brown hair. Sharp white teeth bared behind pink lips.

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 _Marcus._

The mouth had a nerve to smile at her, all cheek and teeth.

 _The evil little twerp._

" _You."_ she seethed, a murderous rage overtaking her mind. "YOU!" Her limps felt like Jell-O, and she knew that she didn't have the strength to vibrate her hand through his body and tear out whatever wires and cables that made him function, so she settled for poking an angry finger at his chest.

"Me." Marcus grinned impassively, spreading his hands out. He was crouching next to her, and his face was inches away. She never thought she'd see him again – they'd killed him, and he was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to stay dead. Marcus looked exactly the same – dark, malicious, unmoved – but not stoic. Mirth danced in his eyes. She guessed the douchebags never learned.

Her surroundings were still white – there were no angles or texture, but she could feel hard, solid ground below her and she had never felt more graceful. Above her, blank white loomed like a gaping sky with no end, beginning, or shape. The only shadow and form around her that wasn't white and motionless was Marcus himself, clad in dark clothes and an irking smile.

"You did this, didn't you?" Bree seethed, furiously. "You're behind the – the bomb – and the death – the city -" she started spluttering, and she sat up, face to face with him. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl, and she was fairly sure that if she spit at his face it would be a clean hit, right between the eyes.

"Oh, come on now, is that how you treat an old friend?" he chuckled, infuriatingly calm. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if explaining physics to a small child. "And to think, Bree, we used to get along so well." Bree saw red. She wasn't dumb, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to put up with his, manipulative, scheming bullshit. Not now, not again, not ever.

"Believe me, Marcus, you wouldn't like me angry. And you especially won't like me when I'm pissed off." she hissed.

"Oh, I'm so scared." he mockingly blubbered, his face breaking into a sneer. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? Did you get tired of hiding behind your brothers?" Bree was glad for the brief flicker in his façade, and glad for an excuse for her to grab the lapel of his jacket, haul herself up, and punch him in the face with her free fist.

"We were friends! We all trusted you! You tried to kill my family!" she choked out, rattled. "I'm dead, now, are you happy?" Her first punch sent him staggering to the floor, and the second came after she rolled on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Her clenched fist knocked his face to the left. Then to the right. Left. Right. "I'm _DEAD_ , and I didn't even get to say _goodbye!"_ she howled. _Left. Right. Left. Right._ "I'm _DEAD_ , and I can't go to college, get a job, save the world – I can't do anything! I'm _eighteen years old_ and I've never gotten to live my life in the real world because of people like you. I never got to rest because people like _you –_ thoughtless killers, thieves, liars, and traitors keep fucking with the world! My job never ended, not like it should've! Because I'm gone. Gone FOREVER, and the last person I'd ever want to be stuck in a hellhole with is _YOU!"_

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Her fist was a blur of peachy knuckles and nail, and she hit him in the face until her entire arm felt numb. Bree drew her elbow back again and again, each time sending it colliding with the boy beneath her with devastating speed. When she socked him directly in the nose, his head slammed back into the floor with astonishing force, sending fractures in the ground below. When she couldn't send her hand into his face anymore because of sheer exhaustion, she delivered one final right hook, slumped, and heaved herself off of him and onto the floor. She looked sideways at him, expecting to see at least a smattering of blood smeared on his face.

" _Ugh."_ He groaned, and brought a hand up to his cheek. His stupid, perfect, beautiful cheek was unmarred. His skin was flawless; yet his eyes were scrunched in pain. Bree started down at her knuckles in wonder and surprise; they were bruised and bloody, and her entire hand ached. It wouldn't have surprised her if at least three bones had been broken.

"What the hell…" she mumbled in disbelief. She'd been hitting him with a speed faster than lightning; he wasn't even dented. "Who the fuck built your face?"

"My _mother._ Hah, kidding, kidding. You're not the only one who got a few upgrades," he moaned, hand cradling his face. "Still, that hurt like hell, I'll give you that. How much practice do you get with that right hook, anyway?" he asked from behind his hand.

"I…I use it on Chase all the time when we spar." she answered automatically, eyes fixed on his face. Whoever had rebuilt Marcus had done a good job; if even she couldn't dent him, then there was no telling what kind of technology was used.

"Poor guy." he responded simply, rolling over onto his side. "Guess he's learned to keep his guard up, huh, with his sister beating on him all the time."

"Yeah."

"You're not, by the way." Marcus added. Next to her, he stared up at the endless, invisible sky of white and stretched his back into an arch. She tried not to stare.

"What?"

"Dead, I mean. You're not dead – yet."

"What do you mean?" This was puzzling, and frustrating. If she wasn't dead, then what was she? Everything around her felt solid and real, but then again, she couldn't trust her instincts anymore, now could she? After all, dead people couldn't think or hear or smell. But then…what happened to her? If she wasn't dead, and Marcus was here then -

"C'mon, Bree, I thought you were smart. You can figure it out, can't you?" Marcus teased, and she was reminded once again of how much she hated him. She hated this dark boy who was dripping in self-righteous purpose, this murderer, this _machine._

"If I'm not dead, then does that mean you – you're alive?" she asked haltingly, afraid of the answer. He looked over at her with wicked, sinful eyes.

"Depends."

She snorted. It was a vague answer, and she wouldn't put it past him to start talking in riddles. The little shit. "Where are we, then?" she tried again, moistening her lips. He sighed and sat up.

* * *

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"Have you ever heard of a little place called purgatory?"

"Hell?"

"Nah. That's different. That's forever." he shrugged. "This – this is a purgatory _place_ , where we're examined, evaluated, and healed. If we're lucky. You've come a long way, Bree. You're not dead. This isn't where the dead are sent."

"You're a robot. An android. You…can't go to an afterlife." she informed him blankly.

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"This isn't afterlife, sweet cheeks." Marcus snapped. "Think of me as more of an automaton," he grinned, cat-like. He flexed his fingers. "I was made well – made to mimic human emotion, want, and reaction. My body's a bit artificial -" he winked at her and she gazed back in fury, "- but my head and heart -"

"You don't have a heart."

"- are a little more than a machine. They made me too well." he laughed bitterly, and let out a sigh. "Free choice isn't always an option when you're not a real person. I lived on strings, like a puppet – like Pinocchio. I wasn't a real boy then. Believe me, Bree, I didn't want to betray your little rat pack, honest. It really broke me apart, it did. But I've been gone – or dead, as you put it – a long time now. You're what, eighteen? Twenty? You've sure grown up," he leered with an exaggerated look checking her up and down. She shivered in disgust.

"Liar," she spat. "You weren't guilty at all."

"You're right," he agreed, nodding. "It didn't break me apart - I really just didn't care."

"You deserved to die." she ground out between her teeth. "I wish you'd stayed dead!" He chuckled knowingly at this and tilted his head. Bree hesitated. "So we did kill you?" she asked, breathless. "We won?" She needed to be assured of this victory, at least. He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I can't be killed. But you and your little Breakfast Club gave a damned good try, I'll give you that." Marcus's voice was easy and light, bearing no grudge toward her. Bree's eyes narrowed. He was always a good liar. She scrambled to her feet, and he leapt to his.

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"Why are you here, Marcus? In this… _purgatory._ "

"I was never a machine, and I was never a boy. I was always more and less, a perfect in-between. That warrants some special treatment from the universe. Did you really think nuts and bolts were all that kept me functioning? When I was rebuilt, my handlers didn't understand the technology they had in their hands. You may be able to reach this place by running yourself half to death," he sneered, "but _I_ can be here with a flick of a finger. You're not that special, Bree. Technically, I'm your brother – flesh and blood -" he guffawed at this before settling back into a sneer, "- but we're not the same. We're not the same at all. Speaking of flesh and blood, apparently you and the smart one don't really care about those kinds of borders, do you, eh? Good for you, as long as the Davenport brother don't find out that you two have been eye fucking each other for the last three years behind everyone's backs -"

Her hand reached out to smack him in the face, but he dodged. He was faster than she was.

"How did you know about -?"

He tapped his temple. "This place has its benefits."

"You've been _spying_ on us?!" she cried. "You've been half-dead for years and you've spent your time in limbo playing peeping-Tom? What the hell, Marcus?"

"I know, I know, it's so evil," he deadpanned. "There's not much to do around here that doesn't involve destroying the universe, which, at the moment, isn't really my top priority, seeing as I am currently a resident. But yes, I have been… _checking up_ on all of you. Among other things."

"You're a freak!" she growled, trying to shove him. He stood still, and it was like trying to nudge a brick wall. He had Adam's strength, and his ability to stand firm and unmoving. He was smart, and right manipulative little bastard who was so infuriating. He was nothing like Adam, he was nothing like Chase, and he was most definitely nothing like here. "You're a twisted, sick, perverted freak who's never going to -"

"To what, speedster? Learn how to live like a normal person? Finally be loved by a father? Maybe, oh, I don't know, come back to life? I may not be dead but I'm sure as hell not alive!" he bellowed. Behind him, below him, above him – white. White, white, white.

Bree blinked. He continued. "I've been stuck here for YEARS. YEARS. I've tried to go back -"

"Where?"

"To our universe. To our world. But it won't work. I don't have enough energy to open the doors anymore. But now that you're here -" He broke off, and she stared at him. He was crazy and red in the face, and she was just a tiny bit afraid of him.

"Where are we?" she asked helplessly.

"This is where the endings begin, the beginnings end, and the possibilities split. This is how wishes are made, death is unleashed, and life is spun. This isn't a place or a thing – this is an _it. It_ is greater than you or me or everyone in the universe combined. This will take you where you need to go." He smirked at her confusion. "Everything that has ever been and never was is a possibility here. Every universe, dimension, planet, galaxy, dream, or possible path is accessible here. You just need to find a door – the right one. _Your_ door."

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"How?"

Marcus smiled, and held out an inviting hand. "All you have to do is wish for it."

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 **The next chapter with Chase will be up, and oh, boy are things just getting weirder and weirder. I'd love a comment or two in the box below - feeback would be wonderful. Any questions will be addressed. :)**


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